


my taste in music is your face

by mygalfriday (BrinneyFriday)



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-20
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-05-02 14:35:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5251910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrinneyFriday/pseuds/mygalfriday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>River makes it halfway down the corridor away from the control room before she hears the Doctor. She rolls her eyes fondly and trails her fingertips along the wall, following the sound of his voice. Talking to himself. Typical.</p>
            </blockquote>





	my taste in music is your face

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the rdficathon forever ago and I just forgot to post it. Oops.
> 
> Prompt: Young Doctor embarrassed when River walks in on him doing final checks and practicing flirty/sexy lines and poses in front of the mirror before a date.
> 
> Story title from Tear In My Heart by Twenty-One Pilots.

When the TARDIS appears outside of her cell in the middle of the night – silent, for once – River smiles to herself and smoothes her dress over her thighs, bending to check her lipstick in the mirror. Satisfied, she shuts her bigger-on-the-inside closet with her hip and turns on her heel, fluffing her hair as she walks to the bars and waits for her husband to flounce out. He’s been very consistent lately, always showing up on time and dressed to impress. He’d sent her an invitation this afternoon for a party on the fifth moon of Neptune and she’s been looking forward to it all day. She’d even escaped just after dinner to have her nails done.

 

Several minutes pass and her smile slips with each passing second that he doesn’t appear. For a moment, she worries something might be wrong but the Old Girl hums soothingly and she relaxes, her tense shoulders dropping. Whatever he’s doing in there, he’s not hurt. With a sigh, River turns from the bars long enough to fetch a hairpin and let herself out. The alarms go off and lights in the corridor start to flash but she only rolls her eyes, tucks the pin into her hair, and steps into the TARDIS.

 

Shutting it behind her, she looks to the console, expecting to find the Doctor preoccupied with the settings and probably completely oblivious that he’d even landed the ship at all. The control room is empty. She peers through the floor just to be sure he hasn’t fallen asleep in the repair swing or tangled himself up in wires but he isn’t there either. River frowns, calling out, “Sweetie?”

 

Nothing. 

 

She glances at the console and asks, “Are you _sure_ he’s alright?”

 

The TARDIS hums.

 

“Good.” She sighs, patting the wall fondly. “I’ll just go find him, shall I, dear?”

 

Heels clicking against the floor, River makes it halfway down the corridor away from the control room before she hears the Doctor. She rolls her eyes fondly and trails her fingertips along the wall, following the sound of his voice. Talking to himself. Typical.

 

“Hello there, gorgeous.”

 

River freezes, snapping to attention at that _tone_. She slips her hand away from the wall and straightens, her whole body tense as she listens intently. It’s a very particular tone, one she privately refers to as his bedroom voice. The one that makes her insides tremble and her knees turn to jelly. When he looks at her with dark eyes and speaks to her with that voice… she swallows. Well, there isn’t much she won’t do. That voice is hers. But she’s out here. So who the hell is he talking to?

 

“Is that a sonic screwdriver in your pocket or – wait no, sorry. Bugger.”

 

Teeth grinding together, River takes another step and rounds the corridor. The first door on the right is their bedroom, and she realizes it’s ajar. Warm light from inside spills out and another moment of listening proves the Doctor is inside. Inside their bedroom. Using his bedroom voice. Without her. River feels a muscle in her jaw tick. She narrows her eyes and considers going for the gun strapped to her thigh beneath her dress.

 

It could be a misunderstanding, she reasons. He could be talking to himself or perhaps he’s talking in his sleep. It could be _anything_ but what it sounds like it is. Right. Hovering outside their room, River takes a deep, steadying breath and keeps listening, her hearts in her throat.

 

“You bad, bad girl. You like a man in a tux, don’t you?”

 

The air leaves her lungs in a sharp, painful rush and she feels her hand close around the blaster under her dress. Her hearts twist in her chest but she doesn’t let herself dwell on the sting of betrayal. That comes later. For now, she has a gun and a twitchy trigger finger. She’ll kill him. Actually, properly kill him this time. With no hope of regeneration. And then she’ll deal with whoever he had _dared_ to bring into their bedroom.

 

Even with unbridled, jealous rage coursing through her veins the likes of which she hasn’t felt since her university days – her relationship with the Doctor had been so new and she’d still been so sure he couldn’t truly be happy with a psychopath like her – River still finds the strength not to barge into the room and shoot first, ask questions never. Instead she moves closer, peering into the room through the crack in the door, hoping to see her target before she aims. Not a killing shot. Just a warning.

 

She wants to see him panic first.

 

Her gaze falls on the bed first, expecting to see her husband entwined with some leggy companion but the bed is empty and meticulously made. Not a pillow is out of place. Frowning, River leans a little closer and scans the floor. No lacy underthings lying about. Nothing but that dress she’d left puddled at the foot of the bed a few days ago. Honestly, he hasn’t even picked it up yet.

 

She inches the door open just a little to get a better view of the whole room and finally spots the Doctor standing in front of her vanity mirror. He’s peering into it with a swaggering grin, tugging at the lapels of his suit jacket. There isn’t anyone else with him. River stares at the back of his head and tries to swallow the lump in her throat. He’s alone. Of course he’s alone. He would never – she breathes in shakily and closes her eyes, letting herself feel guilty for just a moment as she tucks her gun away and leans against the doorframe.

 

Sometimes, being a former psychopath has its disadvantages. The long buried but occasionally resurfacing certainty that no one will ever love her happens to be one of them. One day, she’ll thank Madame Kovarian for that personally.

 

“Why yes, I am parting my hair on the other side now.”

 

River opens her eyes and watches her husband slick back his hair in the mirror.

 

“Thanks for noticing, dear.”

 

She blinks. He never calls anyone dear except for the TARDIS and herself. River can certainly tell he isn’t talking to the ship. So he’s talking to her. Imaginary her. Stifling a smirk, she crosses her arms over her chest and settles in, waiting for him to notice her lurking behind him.

 

Too busy flirting with his reflection, the Doctor couldn’t be more oblivious. He straightens his bowtie, tilts his head to the side and winks. River brings a hand up to her mouth to smother a giggle. Bless, he really is adorable, even – perhaps especially – when he’s being an idiot.

 

He takes a deep breath and offers the mirror one of those dark-eyed glances that River always feels down to her toes. “Get ready, River Song,” he murmurs. “Tonight, you are going to be swept right off your feet.”

 

“Are you sure that’s wise, honey? You might drop me with those bandy legs of yours.”

 

The Doctor yelps in surprise, whirling from her vanity mirror so fast he trips over his feet and hits the floor hard. He groans but River barely hears him over the sound of her own laughter. She doubles over, clutching her side, and howls until tears spring to her eyes. “River!”

 

Sinking onto the foot of their bed, she struggles to catch her breath, wiping at the tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. “I’m sorry, sweetie,” she says, stifling another bout of giggles. “I couldn’t resist.”

 

He stumbles to his feet, blushing furiously, and dusts off his suit. “What are you doing here?”

 

She presses a hand to her hearts. “Ouch. I suppose all that talk at our wedding was just that? What’s mine is yours? You were just trying to get into my knickers, weren’t you?”

 

If anything, he only gets redder, blustering as he tugs at his coat. “ _River_.”

 

Biting her lip, River watches him avoid her gaze and says, “The TARDIS took it upon herself to land at Stormcage. You didn’t come out so I decided to look for you. I think the Old Girl wanted to show me something.” She smirks, tipping her head back to regard the ceiling. “Thank you, dear.”

 

The TARDIS hums in amusement.

 

“Traitor.” The Doctor scowls, tugging at his fringe. “Right. Well. Look, I wasn’t – that wasn’t what it looked like.”

 

“Really? Because it looked like you were primping.”

 

He sputters. “I was not primping. I was -”

 

She raises an eyebrow, watching him flail his arms about and search desperately for an explanation. “Yes, sweetie?”

 

He deflates, shoulders drooping. “I may have been…” He trails off, scratching his cheek with an endearing little sigh. “Primping.”

 

River grins, crossing her legs and watching him squirm. He’s rather young at the moment, newly married and besotted but not quite sure how to show it just yet. The sting of betrayal she’d felt in the corridor a few minutes ago is gone, replaced by the warm knowledge that her husband adores her and always has, even when he didn’t want to admit it. Her smile widens and the Doctor eyes her warily, looking suspicious.

 

“Do you always primp before our dates, Doctor?”

 

“No, of course not.” He flushes, turning his attention to the carpet under his feet. “Possibly. Sometimes. Yes, a bit.”

 

River swallows her laughter and watches him scuff his shoe against the floor. “Why?”

 

He shrugs.

 

“I do it too, you know.”

 

His head shoots up and he stares at her with wide eyes, looking hopeful. “You do?”

 

“Of course I do.” She rises from the bed and steps into him, pleased when he doesn’t try to back away from her. His hands settle on her hips and he looks at her with such adoration that she once again has to push away the guilt that had so overwhelmed her earlier. It had been ridiculous to think he would hold anyone else like this, look at anyone else the way he looks at her. She touches her fingertips to his bowtie and tips her head back to meet his gaze. “Have to look my best for him indoors.”

 

He giggles, still delighted whenever she refers to him as her husband. It’s new for him, a novelty he doesn’t think will ever wear off. They get married often enough in his future that it never really does. They both like it that way, referring to themselves as newlyweds even after two hundred years. “And I always want to look nice for the Missus.”

 

River smiles and kisses his jaw. “See? Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

 

She feels him relax against her, feels his fingers curl around her hips and his mouth brush against the top of her head. “No, I suppose not.” He leans back to look at her properly, his eyes bright with hope. “Does this mean you’re not going to tell Amy about this?”

 

“Oh no.” She pats his cheek. “I’m definitely telling Amy about this.”

 

“I hate you.”

 

Laughing softly, River curls her fingers around the lapels of his jacket and yanks him with her onto the bed. He lands right on top of her with an indignant yelp but she shushes him quickly, rolling over to pin him beneath her. She straddles his thighs and looks down at him with a triumphant grin. “No, you don’t.”

 

He crosses his arms over his chest, trying his best to sulk, but she knows the affect she has on him and with her on his lap, there is no hiding it. She grins, broad and predatory, certain that she has won even if he doesn’t want to admit it.

 

“And you were right before.” She leans in, hands on either side of his head as she brushes her mouth hotly over his ear. He shudders. “I really do like you in a suit.”

 

She can practically hear the smugness in his grin. “Yeah?”

 

Nodding, River capture his earlobe between her teeth and tugs, listening to the rush of air that leaves him in a quiet sigh. “Oh yes.”

 

“River -”

 

“Shh.”

 

“But -”

 

She releases his ear and turns her head, silencing him with a kiss. He melts beneath her with another of those little sighs she loves so much, his mouth soft and pliant against her own. His hands thread through her curls and he forgets all about hating her, about embarrassing himself in front of the mirror or Amy finding out about it. He can’t seem to remember much of anything except how to slide his hands beneath her dress and make her sigh too. He doesn’t even complain about the gun strapped to her thigh.

 

River grins into his mouth and tugs his bowtie undone, feeling warm and loved and not jealous in the slightest. And by the end of the night, the Doctor isn’t the only one proven right. River had been too. That bedroom voice is _definitely_ only for her. Just the way she likes it.


End file.
